


won with false dice

by pencildragon



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Coming of Age, Dump That Motherfucker's Ass, F/M, First Crush, Golden Age (Narnia), Sexual Harassment, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pencildragon/pseuds/pencildragon
Summary: In the early years of her reign, Queen Susan doesn't know what to do with her first suitor.
Relationships: Susan Pevensie/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	won with false dice

_DON PEDRO  
Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick._

_BEATRICE_  
 _Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one:  
marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it.  
_Shakespeare, _Much Ado About Nothing_

* * *

In the Golden Age of Narnia, when Peter the High King ruled in Cair Paravel and Susan the Gentle, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Duchess of Dancing Lawn, Countess of the Southern Vale, Bow-arm of Narnia, and Keeper of the Horn was the most beautiful woman in the world, the suitors came from far and wide to gaze upon her beauty.

Knights of Archenland brought her flowers, Tarkaans wrote her smoothly-worded poetry, and Princes and Kings of the islands in the Eastern Sea brought her strings of pearls for her dark hair. She was gracious to all, and she turned them away so smoothly that the slower-witted ones didn't realize she'd actually refused until they were already headed home.

It was not always this way. In the beginning, Narnia was a land bound in winter, and Susan of Finchley was a schoolgirl in plaited pigtails, a pretty child, but no queen. Spring came swiftly, and so did maturity, but Susan of Narnia was barely fifteen when she acquired her first suitor and she hadn't the slightest clue what to do with him.

His name was Tran of Welsmith and he was seventeen years old. She'd known him almost since the beginning—he'd visited Anvard as squire for his father, Baron Welsmith, the first time she was there. They ran into each other in the halls before they were ever properly introduced, and he followed her all afternoon.

"Your Highness, was there really a witch?"

"Queen Susan, what is Narnia like in summer?"

"Queen Susan, do the animals really talk in Narnia?"

"Queen Susan, would you like to see me tilt at the quintain?"

* * *

" _I don't like him very much_ ," she admitted to Ilene that night, after supper was over, after she'd been formally introduced to Tran of Welsmith, Esquire, after she and Ilene were back safely in the Queen's Closet.

Ilene laughed. "He likes you. If you were a little younger he'd pull your plaits and put frogs down your back."

Susan touched her hair, twisted up that morning by Ilene in the latest Archen way, and said nothing.

For the remainder of Baron Welsmith's stay in Anvard, Susan steered clear of him and his son, but before they left Tran sought her out in the garden.

"I apologize for harrying you," he said, looking at his feet. Then he looked up, blurted, "Butyou'retheprettiestgirlI'veeverseen," and ran.

Susan stared.

* * *

That was the end of it, she thought, and after laughing over it with Ilene, she put it out of her mind for the remainder of her time in Anvard. There was, after all, much to occupy her, for the harvest was winding down and she was learning how to dry, pickle, and can every kind of produce, besides shooting (Archenland was famous for its bow-work), sewing, handwriting, horseback riding, courtly speech, and castle management.

At the first snow, Peter came over the mountains to fetch her home, and what a whirl of tales there was to tell. Then it was Yuletide, after which Narnia settled down for its winter nap and the children found a routine of study and exercise. Spring came with a burst of tilling and planting and song, as the Rivers broke their banks, the Trees keened—wild, high, free—at the return of the sun, and Lady Verna walked the land and danced in the center of every ring.

Winter gave way to spring, to the bustling commerce of summer, the feasting and thanksgiving of autumn, and so to Yuletide and winter again, until three years slipped by and Susan was a capable woman of fifteen, without thought or care for love.

In the quiet winter season she went again to Anvard, where she rose early every morning and got herself something from the buttery for breakfast; then read in the library for several hours. In the warmest hours of the day, she would practice her shooting or go riding or play with Corin, and in the evenings she often dined privately with Ilene and Lune in the Queen's Closet. Lune loved to read aloud, and that winter she and Ilene knit and embroidered as he read to them from the works of Blondel, a great poet of Archenland.

One afternoon, as she hurried through the halls in her woollen riding habit, a voice suddenly said behind her,

"Is't thou?"

A young knight, walking in the same direction, had overtaken her. She looked closer. It was Tran.

"Oh!" was all she found to say.

* * *

_Queen Susan to Queen Lucy,_

_Do you remember Tran of Welsmith?_

* * *

"Art pink and breathless this eve," said Ilene when she came in. "Did aught happen?"

"N-no," she said, suddenly stammering. "I knew not that Tran of Welsmith was in Anvard. We spoke in the library an hour or more."

"Of what did ye speak?"

"Everything? Nothing?" She shook her head, blushing. "I know not."

He was tall now, and freckled, with a dusting of beard and a pleasantly deep voice. They'd talked of politics and poetry, cookery and book-keeping, of how it had become customary for her to spend the winter months of study and recreation in Anvard, of his new knighthood and his studies with Lor, the master scribe and castle librarian. Everything. Nothing.

* * *

_Queen Lucy to Queen Susan,_

_The one you didn't like? Shar's friend?_

* * *

She'd learned that he slept past sunrise and trained in the mornings, only coming to the library in the afternoon; and that he sat and read late by the fire at night. It was not surprising that she'd not seen him before, even at meals, for she dined at the high table and he ate with the other bachelor knights.

Twice in the next fortnight did they chance-meet in the halls, and when the week after that Ilene had an errand to a nearby village one afternoon, Susan stayed behind and chose a table near the library door. She told herself she was not seeking him out, for she really did have a book she wished to finish reading—but it was all too easy to make a meeting more likely. Always he used the familiar terms of address, and giggling, she overlooked it, enjoying the tiny thrill of naughtiness.

The Queens threw a feast for Half-spent Day, at midwinter. When the dinner was eaten and the King and Queen led the way to the ballroom, Susan followed with Corin's small hand tucked in hers. They danced a dance together, at the top of the line near the musicians, but the Prince fought back yawns and his nurse (who between Ilene and Susan often had little to do) hovered near. Out of the corner of her eye, Susan saw a tall, gangly figure approaching, and her heart beat faster than it had any right to merely from the dancing.

"Go now to bed," she said to Corin, "and I shall come bid thee goodnight ere thou art asleep."

"Pwomise?"

"Aye."

He yawned and went with Nurse, and she turned, smiling, to put her hand in Tran's and follow him to the new set as it formed. He was older than Peter, and quieter, but she'd had three years of southern etiquette lessons from Ilene and was happy to keep the conversation flowing: from music (he wished the band would play more jigs) to their studies (Lor, he said, was a fussy old woman) to his father's duchy (he dreaded the day he inherited it, and had she any estate-managing wisdom to share?).

Afterwards he asked for a second dance, but her head was whirling and she excused herself to tuck in Corin. Dancing with Peter down an Archen set or whirling with the Fauns and Nymphs on Dancing Lawn was never, never like _that_ —that pulse of _why who what when where why why_.

She was glad to sit on the edge of the Prince's bed and listen to his rambling tale of his pet mouse, Terrible John, and How He Got Losted. She was glad to tell again the story of the Talking Mice and how they gained their voices. (Corin liked the Mouse Chief with his tiny rapier _very very much_.) She was glad to sing softly for him, ( _two songs, Aunt Susan, please?_ ) until his breathing slowed and his eyes drooped shut.

She slipped back into the ballroom, finally calm, and saw Tran across the dance floor, bringing his partner's hand to his lips as the dance ended, and gazing deep into her eyes.

Ilene and Lune came up, breathless from the reel and asking if Corin was asleep. She shook herself, ( _why was she thinking so much of him?_ ), and replied that the Prince was sound asleep with his stuffed mouse.

* * *

_Queen Susan to Queen Lucy,_

_Yes. He's grown up rather nicely._

* * *

Twice or thrice more that winter they sat in the library and talked of everything and nothing. Once he invited her to sit with him in the winter sunlight of the empty south solar, and her knitting needles flashed faster and faster as he played something wild, low, and throbbing on the dulcet.

"It's lovely," she said when he finished. "Who wrote it?"

He shrugged, shook his head, and muttered something about improvisation. His fingers strayed over the keys again and she laid her knitting down to sing when he played _The Lay of Liln and Olvin_ , a song of a poor Archen peasant boy who did mighty deeds and won the hand of the Queen of Narnia.

* * *

_King Peter to Queen Susan,_

_When are you coming home?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to King Peter,_

_Soon._

* * *

The weeks slipped by and the days grew slowly longer. One day a warm wind blew from the east, and fog lay in every dip and hollow of the land as the snow melted.

"'Tis nearly time for me to return home," she said. It was late in the forenoon, but the library was cool with the timeless scent of parchment.

"Wilt come again in high summer?"

"Nay, for I have many duties. Hast plans for the coming months?"

He shrugged, doodling on a scrap of parchment. "I wish to undertake a quest and seek out the sword of Olvin, for never has it been found."

Susan's eyes shone. "Twould be a worthy and noble quest. Wilt thou write to me?"

He grunted.

* * *

_From Tran, Lord's-son of Welsmith and Knight of Archenland to Susan the Fair, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel and Keeper of the Horn._

_Greetings, fair lady. I have returned to Welsmith, where all is fresh with spring and the maidens daily tarry in the flower garden. Art safely home? Hath aught of import happened?_

* * *

_From Susan, Queen of Narnia to Tran, Knight of Archenland,_

_I met with no mischance on the road, though we stopped a half-score times to dance with the Nymphs and picnic with the Fauns. Narnia is loveliest in the spring, and I think I once glimpsed Lady Verna, afar off._

_This forenoon a Calormene merchant ship moored in the bay and came ashore for water. I went to greet them, and the ship's cook (a young man, I think, with no beard but a moustache) made the boldest inquiries of me: whether I was married and if I had a suitor. When I told him I had no suitors, he bowed low and said, "Blind must be the men of Narnia, for one as beautiful as the sun should have many to court her favors." Then he asked for a lock of my hair. I don't remember what I said to him, for I was taken wholly by surprise and excused myself as quickly as I might._

_Nothing more of import occurred this day, and it is now nearing the second watch of the night, so I shall end._

* * *

_From Tran, Knight of Archenland to Susan, Queen of Narnia,_

_Accept my apologies on behalf of the impudent Calormene and his impertinent questions. But he was no liar, however churlish his manners, for in sooth thou'rt as lovely as he called thee, and more._

_Why sit'st thou awake so late? Shouldst take thy rest!_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_Thankee for thy pretty words, for they have soothed my heart. I burned my candles late mending the embroidery on my sister the Queen's favorite gown, for tomorrow is her twelfth natal day and she wished to wear it again. What concern is it of thine?_

_What news of Welsmith?_

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_I only spake the truth._

_All day have my sisters labored in the kitchen, baking pies and cakes of delectable aromas, yet I am forbidden to enter and hear naught but, "Tran, don't touch!"_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_If thou assisted in the making, perhaps thy sisters would look more favorably on thy eating. I do the same to my brothers the Kings, but it seems the King Edmund ever absconds with the brimbleberry pies when my back is turned._

_Dost like brimbleberries?_

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_I know not, for I have never tasted them. What sort of pie dost thou prefer?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_I like raspberries best, fresh from the bush. Once, though, I had an orange from Calormen._

* * *

"You look pleased, Susan," said Edmund, looking up from his own stack of morning letters.

Susan smiled to herself as she sanded her quick note. She looked forward to the morning letters now. "I think you and Tran would get on well. Oh, don't squirm so! He's rather scholarly, plays the dulcet, and steals his sisters' pies."

"How old is he?"

"Two years and three months older than I. He'll be eighteen in a week."

Edmund frowned. "Susan?"

She rolled the note and tied it with a flourish. "Hm?"

"How do—well, I mean, how does a chap know if a girl likes him?"

She opened her mouth; then stopped and shut it. "I was going to ask you how a girl can know if a fellow fancies her, or if he—just hangs around because she's there."

He made a face.

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_Word hath reached Welsmith of the high summer festivities in Narnia a sennight from now and thine truly hath enrolled in the lists of the tourney. Might I bear thy favor in the games?_

* * *

Susan squealed. "Lucy, come quick!"

There was a thump from the next room as Lucy dropped her dulcet and came running. "What is it?"

Susan flapped the parchment at her sister, who grabbed it and read, her eyes wide. "What did you tell him?"

"I haven't answered yet."

"Are you going to let him?"

Susan sighed and set the letter down. "I've never given my favor to any of the knights in the jousts, except Peter and Edmund. Do you think I should?"

"Do you like him?"

"He's a nice young man, a lot like Edmund in some ways, and I—yes, I think I will. Let him, I mean. It's not like I'm marrying him or anything."

But secretly she wondered, _What if I do?_

* * *

_Susan, Queen of Narnia to Ilene, Queen of Archenland,_

_Thou wilt never imagine the letter I received today._

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_I blushed when I read thy missive, for truly no man hath asked me for my favor ere now, save for my brothers the Kings._

Susan paused, rubbed out the whole line, looked at the smudges; then rewrote it exactly as before.

_I would be flattered to have thee bear my token in the jousts._

She looked a long time at the two lines, then quickly sanded them, rolled one of her fine silk handkerchiefs in it, and sent them off.

* * *

"You what?" said Peter at breakfast the next morning. Lucy and Edmund were out

"I told Sir Tran he could carry my token in the Midsummer joust," she repeated. An un-Susanish giggle bubbled up. "You know Tran of Welsmith, Peter. His elder sister, Lily, is among Ilene's ladies."

Peter reached for more toast. "I didn't know you, er, _liked_ him."

"I don't know if I do, either. I might. He's good-looking and nice."

Peter looked at her a long moment, chewing his toast. "It's up to you. I'm just surprised you're already courting, when it still feels sometimes like we're mostly kids."

"I'll be sixteen in the fall, and we're _not_ courting."

Before Peter could answer that pair of statements, the Crows flew in, squawking, with the morning mail and there was a flurry of feathers and parchment and rummaging for shinies to compensate them.

"Fat letter from Lucy, thin letter from Lune, probably about when they'll arrive, official missive from Galma, note from Elinda to Lucy—here's one for you, Su, from . . . Esquire Shar?" He passed it over and watched a moment as she unrolled it and read, puzzled at first and then eyes widening to disbelief and horror. Her hand flew to her mouth and she ran from the room.

* * *

_Shar, son of Beorn Duke of Diness and Squire to Sir Tran of Archenland, to Susan, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Duchess of Dancing Lawn, Bow-arm of Narnia and Keeper of the Horn,_

_My lady,_

_It is not my place to speak to you of what hath or hath not passed between you and Sir Tran of Welsmith, but it ill becometh a knight to keep silent to the hurt of a lady. Forgive me._

_Yester even the knight and I went riding together, and as we rode he spoke in the coarsest terms of a lady whom I only gradually realized to be your fair highness._

_"Is't not a pretty jest?" said he. "But shall her brother allow it? For it is said he shields his family jealously and allows no man near his sisters. 'Tis as amusing a pastime as could be contrived. "_

_I did not understand. "Of what speakest thou?" said I._

_He laughed. "In sooth, I have no great desire to wed her. 'Tis but a merry jest!"_

_"Then wilt thou not carry her token in the games?"_

_Again he laughed. "Of a surety I will, for 'tis all a game. She knoweth me but a little, and her brothers not at all, yet she well remembereth what I said three years past and hath taken a fancy unto me. I confess, Shar, 'tis a heady feeling for a country baron's son when a queen hangs upon his every word."_

_"What of the lady's heart?"_

_He waved his hand. "What of it? Mayhap we shall wed, after all, and then I shall be king."_

_By then, your highness, we had come to the end of our ride, and I beg forgiveness for not saying more in your defense, but my master is quick to anger, not nearly so respectable as his reputation. Yet if your highness speaks the word, I shall charge him with calumny against a lady, though he be a knight and I a humble squire._

_I remain your servant,_

_Shar of Diness_

* * *

Susan sat and stared at the letter, shaking. She was not sobbing, not yet, but a cold horror coiled in her stomach and her teeth chattered and the tears ran down her cheeks as she read the sickening words over and over. _A merry jest—a merry jest—I shall be king._

She dropped the parchment, buried her face in her arms, and wept.

* * *

_Susan, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Duchess of Dancing Lawn, and Bow-arm of Narnia, to Shar, son of Beorn Duke of Diness and Squire to Tran, Knight of Archenland,_

_It is with deepest regret that I read thy epistle, for truly I believed him an honorable man. I thank thee. Charge him not to a trial by combat, for my brothers the Kings shall wish that right, but know thou hast my undying gratitude for this great service done me._

* * *

After a time she raised her head, sniffling, clenching her teeth to stop the chattering, though she could not quell the shaking in the pit of her stomach.

There was a knock at the door. "Susan? You all right?"

She scrubbed away the tears. "Come in."

It was Peter. "Su? What—"

Wordlessly, she held it out. He read, frowning, and growled.

"He'll pay for this."

She shook her head. "Don't Peter. He doesn't know any better. But please—"

"What? What do you want me to do?"

"I don't want—if I try to talk to him, I'll know I'll just blubber. Just—just make him go away, Peter, but don't—don't hurt him. Please."

* * *

_Queen Susan of Narnia to Queen Ilene of Archenland,_

_I have not the stomach to make thee guess. In fine, the tale is thus: Sir Tran requested my favor for the Midsummer tourney at Paravel, and I gave it, knowing not that his intentions were churlish and dishonorable._

_Oft hast thou spoken jestingly of him to me. I ask thee now to refrain._

* * *

_Susan to Lucy,_

_Please come home._

* * *

There are hurts no magic elixir can heal. Queen Lucy cradled her sister, feeling helpless as Susan—the older one, the sensible one, the grown-up one—sobbed in her lap.

"Shh. Shh. Don't worry. I'll stab him for you. I'll find him and make him wish he never looked at you. He has no right to—Susan, Susan, your heart is no jest, and if he can't see that, he can just go away and be eaten by Giants, and Chrys and I will hunt him down and deliver him personally to Harfang, and—"

"No, Lucy, no. Violence isn't the answer."

"He's not going to get away with this!"

Susan sniffed and dug for a handkerchief. "I thought he was a knight."

"I know," crooned Lucy. "I know. He's a knuckleheaded churl and a heartless boor."

"But he isn't, not truly. You didn't get to know him like I did, this winter. He's shy and sweet and awkward and—" It was all a misunderstanding. It had to be. She blew her nose decisively and got up. "They're all arriving soon and nothing's done. Thank you, Lucy."

There was no more time to weep, for Midsummer was in just two days. Food had to be made and all the many accoutrements readied and packed for a festival away from the castle, and Susan was called hither and thither to supervise. She would not, could not break down in front of everyone, even if the Beasts could smell the tears inside her. They were Narnian and said nothing.

She found last year's packing lists for Mrs. Twinkletacks. She assured Reedywhistle that no, the trip up-river would be fine and no one was likely to drown. But at last she fairly ran down the stairs and across the courtyard, assuring Dubbin as she passed that _yes_ , he was doing a _splendid_ job with the weaponry. She snatched up a hoe, fled to the garden, and tore into the weeds, wondering if she could run away to Bearclaw Keep and do the barn chores without anyone noticing.

She was perspiring and strands of hair were coming down by the time Lucy found her.

"Susan? Susan, I brought Mrs. Bricker to talk to you."

Susan looked up. Lucy was coming toward her, down the row of beans, with the Cair Paravel midwife behind her.

"It'll be all right. I'll make sure things get done." Lucy gave her a squeeze and darted away.

"Your sister told me what happened, beg your pardon," said Mrs. Bricker quietly.

For just a moment, Susan thought she was upset with Lucy; then she was relieved not to explain it all again, and she sank down in the dirt. "It doesn't matter."

Mrs. Bricker waited, listening. "Are you angry at him?" she said at last.

Susan sighed. "I don't know how I feel. He's a churl and I'm glad I know that now, not later."

"Indeed." The old Black Dwarfess sucked on her pipe. "There are honorable men in the world. Not all of them care only for power and beauty."

She stared at the bean leaves curling up around their stakes. "Yes. He was different in Anvard. A good man, or at least, not a bad one. I can't quite believe they are the same person."

Mrs. Bricker snorted. "He's hardly a man yet."

Susan sighed again. "I know. I should have seen that."

"You are young yourself, Queen Susan. It is not your fault that you have not been hurt before. It is the burned hand that avoids the fire. Next time you will be wiser.

* * *

The Archen party arrived after sunset. There were more of them that year than had come for previous Midsummers, and Susan was everywhere playing the hostess and making sure everyone was fed and settled in comfort for the night, though when she saw Tran in the crowd she ducked away and found Peter.

"You might talk to him now, if you want to do it before the festivities get underway. Just—please, Peter, be nice to him."

" _Nice_?" he spluttered.

"Queen Susan, where do you want—"

"Yes, yes, Iona, I'm coming. Well, maybe not nice, but he's not that old—I just don't want a suitor. Please, Peter?"

He sighed. "I'll consider it."

* * *

She turned back to their guests, children and mothers and knights-at-arms swaggering at each other. Most of the Animals had cleared out, the herbivores getting nervous around that many swords and the carnivores having better things to do, anyway, but the Mice were everywhere, brandishing their rapiers and getting completely underfoot.

At last all had rooms and supper and even hot water, and she could retreat with Ilene to the sanctuary of her sitting room. Her head ached, but finally she could pull out her hairpins and shake her hair and sit with Ilene, who had much more practice than Lucy at saying comforting things. She stroked Susan's hair. She listened. She didn't ask how Susan had found out what was going on, and Susan didn't tell her, but eventually Ilene began to ask other questions.

"Hast considered what thou wilt now do? Wilt go unto him and demand thy handkerchief be returned? Or shall thy brothers the Kings charge him with dishonor of a lady, and of a queen, and prove they honor upon his body in noble combat? Or, if 'tis thy wish, my lord the king may chastise him and strip him of his knighthood—for such, thou knowest, are the laws of Archenland."

Susan closed her eyes and chewed her lip. She could go to him, fling Shar's letter in his face, and demand the full truth. But—and her eyes stung—for all her four-year's-practice in speaking clearly and articulately, she was certain such a confrontation would end only with her sobbing tears, and she did not wish him to see that. She would not go to him like a jilted lover to give him the satisfaction—the honor—of seeing her at her weakest.

Yet if she did not confront him, did not show him the damning letter, then how could she send another to defend her when no public slight had been made? Still she clung to the hope that someone had misunderstood, that Shar had misheard, that she had misread. Perhaps he had only been joking with Shar, in the nervous, deprecating way men will. Perhaps—

She opened her eyes. "Peter my brother is speaking with the man, and I asked him to handle the matter."

Ilene nodded and said that it was well, and with affectionate adieus retired to her own chambers.

Susan did not see Peter again that night, but Lucy slipped in a few minutes later and went to bed, having tactfully visited with Lune and Corin until Ilene returned and the coast could be presumed clear of weeping sisters.

* * *

Breakfast was light the next morning, after the Archen style—just rolls and watered wine served in the buttery—and a buzz of conversation hummed through the castle as the festival-goers finished eating and gathered their things for departure. Some of the ladies, the smaller children, and the short-legged Animals who wished to come would ride upriver with the foodstuffs on a long, low boat propelled by laughing water-nymphs, the prow manned by an especially dour Reedywhistle; everyone else was going on horseback.

Lucy had smoothed a drop of Terebinthian coconut oil into Susan's hair and now was braiding it for the ride (later it would come loose, she knew, and tomorrow she would spend an hour picking twigs and leaves out of the tangles, but she refused to pin it all up under a hat or an Archen veil for Midsummer) when the door to their chamber opened and in came Peter and Edmund.

"Nearly ready?" said the High King. They were in light armor, carrying their sword belts in their hands.

"Very nearly," said Susan and, "Yes," said Lucy, wrapping a leather thong around the end of the braid and pulling the knot snug before she turned to belt Edmund's sword onto him. Susan rose from her seat, the little golden apples beaded onto the leather tails swinging at her waist as she bent to gird on Peter's.

"Did you speak with him?" she asked Peter, her voice low and barely above a murmur.

"Yes."

"Well?"

For answer, he opened his hand and held out the handkerchief she had sent Tran. Carefully, she took up the purple silk with its embroidered silver horn and bound it around his arm.

"I did not mention Lord Shar's letter," he whispered, watching her, and she rocked back on her heels to look at him.

"You— _why_ not?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Lucy was rummaging through a chest, desperately trying to find her own mislaid handkerchief and laughing at something Edmund had said. "It wasn't my place," Peter said softly, and she thought he chose his words carefully. "I—well, it seemed to me that was between you and him, and Lord Shar perhaps."

Her heart sank. Just when she'd thought the matter all cleared up. "Then what did you say?"

"He told me of himself, his apprenticeship, his training for his father's estate, and such matters. I told him you don't wish to concern yourself with affairs of the heart for a time yet. I think I managed to tell him _no_ , but gently."

She leaned her head on his shoulder—not so comforting when he was clad in ring-mail, however light, but still nice—and felt him kiss her hair. "Thank you," she whispered.

* * *

There was much laughter and song as the party made its way upriver, joined at every bend and curve by Narnians large and small. The shorter-legged creatures rode on the longer-legged ones, and some of them crowded onto the flatboat and perched on the luggage until Reedywhistle said they were sure to sink any moment now. But Susan laughed.

"If we were to fall in, the good nymphs of the river would soon fish us out, for our skins are waterproof and can stand the wetting."

He subsided into grumbles.

Susan was in good spirits, for Ilene was recovered from her illness the week before, though she'd foregone horseback in favor of the water, and Susan sat beside her on cushions at the back of the first boat, with Bitterpatch the Squirrel curled familiarly on her knee. Mrs. Twinkletacks was there, and Lady Keld of Paravel Town, discussing how to treat wine stains; Libruns was strumming his harp and singing under his breath; and further down, the Mice were dueling with each other, rapiers flashing and shrill voices crying the noblest of Mouse insults.

On the bank she could see Peter, Lune, and Roongrath riding at the head, and behind them Edmund with Corin before him, Sirs Ocellus and Fleetfoot and Lord Bearsclaw beside. Lucy would be farther back, with Elinda and probably Young Master Carl, and the Archen knights and ladies and Narnian merrymakers. The snare drums of the Dwarf band in back faintly punctuated the rumble of their song, and Susan dropped her head on Ilene's shoulder, closing her eyes to savor the rambunctious buzz of a happy Narnia.

* * *

The sun was still above the trees when they arrived at Beruna and dragged the boat up on the wide sandy curve of beach. Then there was a bustle of activity, for those who'd brought pavilions erected them and bedrolls were unrolled and packs opened to hand around bread and cheese and cold meat pies for dinner. The horses had to be cooled down and watered and fed, and getting a drink to wash down the food turned into splashing in the river with the children.

By that time the Nymphs of the Trees and the Satyrs of the Wood had softly gathered and ringed the camp. Conversation stilled. Families sought one another and settled on the grass, and young lovers curled their arms about each other's waists. As the sun set and the Dwarfs lit campfires of deadwood, the Dryads began to dance, slowly, and the Satyrs played their pipes as the Trees wove in and out between them, so that it sounded like the wind sighing a song through a hundred tree-tops.

Then the Stars appeared, one by one, and the River's daughters rose out of the waves and sang to the song of the wind. It was a rushing, timeless song, that sometimes dimpled in still pools and sometimes laughed over rapids and always changed and always was the same; and Susan stared up into the purpley-velvet dark, stroking Lucy's hair, seeing Peter's broad shape sitting dimly near and hearing Edmund's even breathing not far away. Her aching heart, calm again, sang with Narnia, and there was no room for sorrow in a moment filled to bursting with joy and music.

The moon rose, and the listeners slipped away to bed, hearing still the song of the Trees and the River that flowed on in hushed and rustling voices through the night, while overhead the clear voices of the Stars sang too high and low to be heard, so that the music thrummed through the Narnian earth and tingled through Narnian souls as they lay sleeping on the field of Beruna.

The spirits of Narnia stilled and slept in the wee hours of the morn and the Stars sang on alone, until they were joined by the cheery tunes of Songbirds, and Susan awoke just before sunrise to the sound of Libruns plucking his harp in a wordless morning waltz.

* * *

That day was a bustle of revelry—quarterstaves, archery, races (on foot, horseback, and in the water), and finally the jousts. Susan positioned herself in the center of a knot, with Ilene and Lily and Mrs. Twinkletacks and Lady Bearsclaw around her (Lucy, of course, was in the middle of the Nymphs, laughing and dancing) and divided her thought between carrying on the conversation, cheering her brothers and friends, and wondering if Bacchus would come this year.

He'd appeared at the first midsummer festival, and the next, and she didn't know how they would have survived otherwise until harvest in those first pale, pinched summers, for when Bacchus and his wild girls began their dance of blessing, the food overflowed. And not hardtack or jerky either—midsummer feasts of roasted grain and luscious fruit so fresh and alive that one couldn't remember winter if one tried.

The Narnians wept when they tasted it. So did Susan. Peter and Edmund dug right in, but Lucy's eyes were round with wonder at seeing so much food in one place.

The third year, Bacchus did not come, and neither did Aslan, but they did not go hungry, for the last year's harvest had been so plentiful there was still enough to spare for a feast, and somehow the bread made of winter wheat, with new cream and wine and early strawberries (or last winter's walnuts and grass still green and chewy-crunchy with the sap, for those who preferred such things) was all anyone wanted. It didn't look like so much when they spread it out, but everyone ate until they felt very comfortable inside and still there was food left over.

Somehow, it had not seemed a day for stuffing one's belly to the bursting point. Susan did not think they could have enjoyed the simpler sort of feast a year before, when it still felt that at any moment the cottony clouds might bunch and darken in the northwest—that at any moment, Winter might come howling upon them, and that there could be no second escape.

So now Susan wondered, with the bit of her mind not given over to the conversation (Lady Bearsclaw expected another child in the fall) or the cheering (after a narrow contest, Lord Dar bested Burin the Dwarf at archery) if Bacchus would come this Midsummer's Eve

Her thought broke off, for there was Tran a yard away, and he might be looking at her but she couldn't tell, and the ladies she'd surrounded herself with had drifted away to—well, it looked like everyone was nearly ready for the jousts, (where had the morning gone?) and it had been a lovely morning, and she was sure she'd been entirely happy and not thinking of him at all, and—

He was coming toward her with his half-smile and brush of sideburns, and she pushed herself up from the ground before he could offer his hand, because this had been a perfectly lovely day and why did he have to pop up out of nowhere, smiling at her as if everything was normal? Immediately she felt guilty—of _course_ things were normal, why _wouldn'_ t they be normal?—and flashed a tight smile as she brushed past him, murmuring, "Excuse me." It was nearly time for the joust, and Peter would be waiting.

Side-by-side with Lucy, she cheered for Peter and Lucy cheered for Edmund. Peter was bigger, but Edmund was acquiring a catlike spryness, and the assembly held its breath for the outcome. Peter usually won, but lately the victories had been narrower and narrower, and today they fought on until at last Captain Roongrath stepped forward and declared it a draw.

They fell back, panting and dripping with sweat, and yielded the field to others. At first it was all men—Lord Bearsclaw against Lord Dar or Lord Diness against Lord Cole—but then Roongrath cantered out to face King Lune, and everyone cheered to see the two stern faces, usually so merry, set against each other. After that the orderly combats that might have been at home on an Archen tilting field vanished, for Fleetfoot the Leopard fought with Clive (the Other Lion from the witch's house); Ocellus, Fleetfoot's brother, went tooth-to-claw with Whitetip the Wolf; and Grislnose the Bear fought long and hard with Grubbin the Dwarf.

Susan's mouth tightened and she reached for Lucy's hand when Tran appeared, gleaming with the bravado of a brand-new knighthood, to match his skill with Reedywhistle, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry when the Wiggle roundly trounced him, but Lucy's hand was warm and solid—and she forgot all about it when Rumblebuffin and Chrysophylax appeared to do battle.

* * *

After that, the games broke up and all went swimming, then stretched lazily on the grass to dry slowly in the sun. The Dryads began to build a bonfire, dancing in and out around the growing heap of wood, casting off the dead branches and leaves of the old year to make way for the new. In ones and twos, some of the merrymakers made their way over and added mementos from the year past—plaits of last-harvest's grain, scraps of papers scribbled with words best forgotten, tattered pieces of last-season's nest, and clumps of winter fur from those who changed their coats.

Susan watched them go and come, watched each one thread his way through the swaying trees and stand a moment within the circle with bowed head, thinking of the year gone by, before tossing his addition onto the pyre and departing, eyes lifted to the sky. Part of her wanted to join in, as she had in previous years (there went Edmund—whatever did he wish to burn?), but she couldn't think what she would cast away. There were her notes to and from Tran, but those were back at Cair Paravel, tucked away in a cubbyhole, and she wasn't sure she wanted to burn them anyway. There was the letter from Shar, but that was just the same.

A rummage through her pockets revealed nothing more symbolic or flammable than her formal handkerchief, which Peter had returned after the jousts, and while she thought that might be appropriate, she hadn't turned her back on love entirely—even if she didn't want to consider it again for a good long while—and the sensible side of her protested the idea of burning a good handkerchief which would probably be needed sooner or later. She didn't move.

"Hello, Queen Susan"—and the strange voice behind her was too-familiar in its Archen accents. Slowly, she looked around, keeping herself still now by conscious effort as he flopped down beside her.

"Good day, Sir Tran."

"Majesty."

Her stomach clenched. She couldn't decide if she adored or hated the easy way he greeted her, and so said nothing.

"Wilt thou travel abroad this summer?" he said after a heartbeat of silence.

"No." The word was deliciously small, plunking between them like a pebble into a pool of water. She added, "'Tis the season for trading ships to come and go in the harbor of Cair Paravel, and not even Edmund my brother can best me in haggling with merchants. Then, too, 'twill soon be time for the summer progress." They'd discussed going right on from Beruna after Midsummer's Day, but there was a report of trouble in the marshes that Peter wanted to investigate—probably Giants, again—so they would return to Paravel and set out north from there. After a pause, "I ought to go speak with several of the champions about serving as escorts this year." There was no reason she had to do it now, and at any rate Chrys would probably come along, so—but it was a good excuse, and—

Swiftly he rose to his feet and bowed, a very proper Archen bow. She scrambled up, too, feeling undignified but not liking having to look up, and of course he took her hand to help her up. "My lady. I offer my service as escort."

And then it was a too-long look into her eyes and her hand pressed to his lips and— _no, no, why did her stomach twist with pleasure and disgust and anger and why did she want to shout for Peter or Roongrath or Ocellus or anyone and why not a month ago when nothing would have pleased her more?_

She fumbled for words—that wasn't what she'd meant, honestly, but why hadn't she thought of how it would sound before she spoke, and now she was watching him silently and he could only think that she had accepted. "Ah, but Sir Tran, we have always chosen _Narnian_ knights for our summer tours—and—and I believe my sister Lucy hath already enlisted all we require." Desire? Require? No matter. She made her escape, not looking back.

* * *

It was, in the end, a perfectly lovely Midsummer's Eve, though Susan persisted in feeling twinges of discontent whenever she glimpsed Tran in the throng—trying out a Satyr's pipes, whirling in unrestrained dance with a forward Beech, or gambling with a Dwarf. The Moongrove Centaurs arrived as the sun slid behind the trees, and Timeseer lit the bonfire, speaking over it the ancient words of thanks and plea to Aslan, just as it fully set. The flame sputtered for a moment in the wind, licking at the wood; then it caught and blazed up as high as the leaves on the trees, consuming the shed talismans of a year completed.

Susan and Edmund were content for the time to sit in companionable silence, near where the breeze lapped tiny waves against the riverbank, and watch the merrymaking: the Dwarfs drummed softly and some of the Dryads were singing, but it was a freer celebration than the ancient, wild, almost solemn dance of the night before; and already the wineskins had begun their journeys.

A ring of nymphs and woodland creatures and Lucy spun around the fire. From behind the blaze, there came a burst of laughter and high-pitched squeals; the dancers broke from the ring and whirled away; Lucy came pelting across the field.

"Susan! Susan! Bacchus is here! Come and say hello!"

Bacchus wasn't exactly the sort of person who needed to be formally met, but Susan smiled and let herself be dragged to greet the festival god.

"Susan of Dancing Lawn!" he cried when he caught sight of her, and kissed her firmly on each cheek. "You must join our dance!"

The wild girls around him caught her hands, whirling her into the age-old dance of blessing and plenty and good crops to come, and she forgot everything. She forgot to worry that Peter would drink more than was good for him. She forgot to worry that Edmund would sit silently by the river all night and merely watch. She even forgot that she had to concentrate on following the steps of the dance, and she let go as the drums beat faster and faster, whirling in the great circle of prayer and celebration and life.

* * *

There were tart apples, when they finally collapsed, laughing and breathless, on the grass—tart apples and meltingly-sweet pears and sunrise-red cherries and mountains of blueberries, and of course grapes _everywhere_ and more wine than ought to be possible. The Dryads feasted on delicate earths, the Satyrs and Cats on haunches of spiced meat, the Horses and horses rolled joyfully in the grass beyond the firelight, and Rumblebuffin sat between two ancient Oak Trees, tossing back one watermelon after another; and everything was so alive that it tingled.

* * *

Then there was more dancing, and Susan caught glimpses of the others as she circled and clapped. Lucy, with the musicians, her mouth stained as purple as her fingers that flew on the strings of a kithara. Peter, trying to catch grapes in his mouth as a giggly Holly tossed them one by one. Edmund, drumming away, determined to neither lose the beat or be outdone by his sister.

And Susan whirled and stamped with the energy of youth, weaving in and out in the braided circle of linked hands and sweating faces as the heat burnt away the dross of the year past and a new year was born, dark and sticky-warm with underfoot grapes; and ash spun up in equal measure with the newborn sparks. The great tide of magic hung for a moment at its highest, the frenzied drumbeats blurred together, and then all in a rush the revellers slid down the far side of the wave and the circle broke apart, spraying people across the lawn and into the wood.

Susan found Ilene already asleep with Corin on a pile of cushions and frowned: she would have expected Ilene and Lune to be up for hours yet. But there was a ruddy glow in Ilene's face, if that was not merely the firelight, and the life in the air had surely done her some good. Susan closed her eyes for a moment, standing still to feel the magic that still faintly tingled along her skin, and then she sighed and lay down beside Corin, not bothering to undress, for that was one of the joys of Midsummer; and despite her earlier unrest, she slipped right off into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Her dreams were dim and slow, filled with the familiar murmuring woodsongs of dryad and naiad. The sun was rising when she opened her eyes and stretched, the morning air cool on her face, and then she remembered that there was nothing at all that required her attention. Such a delicious feeling . . . she let her eyes close again, listening to the morning birdsong and the quiet sounds of the few souls already up and about. Beside her, Ilene still slumbered, and even Corin had not yet awoken. Susan smiled and drifted off again.

When she awoke the second time, the camp was a bustle of activity. "Good morning, Queen Susan," said Mrs. Twinkletacks, hurrying up and handing her a bunch of grapes. "Your sister is oveseeing the distribution of the leftover food, while the knights saddle their horses. The Kings are down by the river with Prince Corin and some of the other children."

"Thank you, Mrs. Twinkletacks." Susan pulled the grapes off their stems and ate them slowly, the tart coolness flooding her mouth as she surveyed the field. Erstwhile revellers were moving about, breakfasting here and there on the plentiful remains of last night's feast, cheerful conversation and laughter filling the spaces between the happy shrieks of the splashing children.

And here was Ilene, coming toward her with more food. "Susan! Art hungry?"

"I am, thank you," said Susan, accepting half the cold pasty and blinking as she tried to marshal the appropriate Archen phrasings with the taste of old sleep and last night's wine still on her tongue. "How dost thou keep thy hair so becomingly arranged, sleeping out of doors?" For Ilene's auburn locks were twisted smoothly back, and Susan felt the contrast with her own fuzzy braids, worn two days continuing.

"One can do much with a little water and a finely-toothed comb," said the older Queen, sitting beside her on the cushions and smoothing her rumpled skirt, "yet I would not attempt aught that is elaborate without a glass. A single chignon is elegant enough for the woods."

Susan nodded, chewing meat and vegetables and resolving to keep her hair neater, even in camp.

"'Tis a fine morn, fresh with the new year," said her companion. In Archenland they counted the new years from the month of Wildspring, three new moons after Yule, but in Narnia the old year ended in the ashes of the Midsummer bonfire and a new year was born in the coals. "The young knights wish for an early start, that they may hunt along the road."

"Is that why they're saddling already?" She thought she could make out the Welsmith blazon on one of the young knight's tabards as he laughed at some witticism of his squire's—that must be Tran, with Shar beside him, then—but neither of them turned or looked her way, and she bent her attention to her food once more. "Peter shall want to hurry home as well, and we expect the trade ships in Cair Paravel tomorrow or the day following. Art certain thou wilt not accompany me home and assist me in choosing wares? We still have not finished restoring the glass in all the castle windows, though I intend to this season."

Ilene smiled ruefully. "In sooth, I cannot, for my aunts and cousins come to visit in a sennight, and I must needs prepare. But in the autumn, perhaps?"

Just then Lune came bounding up, dripping wet and in high spirits. "My Queen! The moment thou givest the word, we ride for home." He helped her up from her seat and Susan rose also, brushing the last crumbs of crust from her fingers just in time for Lune to capture her hand in his big one and kiss it firmly. "'Tis ever a joy to join thee in Narnia, my cousin."

"I was just this moment prevailing upon Ilene to remain with us, but alas, she assureth me she cannot. I beg thee, therefore, to release her from her duties for a sennight when the season wanes, that I may have the joy of her companionship for more than these few days."

He laughed and pulled her into a bearhug. "I shall remember thy words come autumn, and take them as invitation to descend again upon your Narnian hospitality."

She kissed him on the cheek and turned to Ilene. "Do come, any day that you are able, and you needn't bother write ahead if it is the whim of a moment."

Lucy joined them, with Corin by the hand, and so with friendly hugs and smiles the farewells were made and the Archen court set off, splashing through the ford and cantering down the bank of the River Rush. Susan stood with her family and waved until Ilene went around the first curve and was hidden by trees; then she turned to help put out the last embers of the bonfire and pack their share of the leftovers in baskets on the boat. By midmorning they were away, the naiads willing to draw the boat more swiftly when traveling downriver, and so home to Cair Paravel by sundown.

All in all, she thought, it had been a satisfactory Midsummer celebration, but the next morning a curl of heat flared in her when she opened the morning mail and found a note from . . . him.

* * *

_Tran, Knight of Welsmith, to Susan, Queen of Narnia,_

_My lady, it grieved me that I could not bear thy colours in the joust this Midsummer. Alack, 'tis true what is said, that thy brother the High King guards his sisters most jealously. I should have been honored to represent thee, but it was not to be._

_Art yet a lady passing fair and sweet, and I am blessed that thou art among my friends._

_Signed,_   
_Sir Tran_

* * *

Susan could not at first decide whether she was pleased or irked to receive this missive, and she stared long at it with pursed lips. Really, it had been her idea to refuse Tran her colors, though Peter wholly approved of the decision, but what did it matter if she laid the blame on his shoulders? And Tran had given her a gracious resolution to the matter, a way to neatly bow out and call it settled. She hastily wrote a reply, looked at it for a long minute, then sanded it and sent it off before she could change her mind.

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_Be not grieved. 'Tis but a small matter, and though thy request flattered my vanity, my brother the High King had the right when he said that I have yet to attain even my sixteenth year and am young indeed to contemplate tokens of favor and hold complex love affairs as do the ladies of the Archen court. Nor lightly do I hold my brother's counsel, but esteem him of greater worth than all my advisors._

_Greatly did I enjoy the hours we spent together in Anvard, and I pray the Lion our friendship does not wane._

_With cordial regards,_

_Susan_

* * *

Peter departed for the Northern front with Roongrath and the army, Edmund and Lucy set off on their summer progress, dragging Elinda Bearsclaw along with them this year, and Susan was left in Cair Paravel, her days filled with merchant ships.

There was wool from Felimath and cotton from Calormen, tea and coffee and chocolate and marzipan and sugar and salt and cakes of yeast, broadcloth and purple yarn and knitted things and scarlet roving for spinning, peacock feathers, cheesecloth and stacks of fine white paper and delicate glass goblets with twisting stems that would shatter at the slightest bump.

She looked at all these things and more and compared lists with Mrs. Twinkletacks and Lady Keld and thought about the year to come and what she had to offer—the Glasswater Dwarfs came up the coast in boats with their metalwork and weapons to sell, and there were bolts of the exquisite dryad-woven silk and linen and still some leftover grain that might be spared for trade—and fruit. Oh, how the traders loved the Narnian fruit, even the small selection of pears and apples and berries that had been picked around Paravel!

In the mornings she practiced her archery (she really was getting quite good); in the evenings she went riding and gave the next day's instructions to the staff. At sporadic intervals, perhaps once a week or less, there was a note from Tran in the morning mail.

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_Come and visit me in Welsmith. The raspberries will soon enough be ripe, and you shall eat them all, straight from the bush if that is your pleasure._

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_Thankee for thy invitation, but duty calls and I have my own garden to tend. I shall not come south this season._

* * *

Her own garden was burgeoning with produce—peas and beans, strawberries and kale; though the lettuce and rhubarb were toughening, the tomatoes swelled pink and under the hills there were fat new potatoes. Sometimes when the shadows lengthened in the afternoons Susan liked to kneel between the rows and pluck the little green weeds that sprouted up with each rain. There was something satisfying about feeling the plant give way and seeing the white root appear, something she liked about uprooting what shouldn't be there and leaving clean bare dirt around each tomato plant.

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_I have a gift for thee. Wilt thou be in Anvard soon?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_Nay. Canst thou not send it by bird or with my friend the Queen of Archenland when she cometh to visit?_

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_I would give it to thee myself._

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_What couldst thou have to give me?_

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_Would not the surprise spoil in the telling?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_I do not enjoy being made sport of._

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_Chide me not; 'twas thou who prolonged the conversation._

* * *

Susan growled under her breath whenever she attacked a particularly stubborn weed, rocking back and forth, her teeth set, until at last it gave way and came up, the long white root dripping with dirt. She shook off the soil and tossed the plant aside to wilt, swiping sweat out of her eyes and leaving a streak of grime behind.

In the mornings, she held her breath until the mail arrived, only exhaling in a mixed rush of relief and disappointment when she saw there was no message from Welsmith. If there was, her breath came shorter and her heart quickened with pleasure and sickening nerves and _oh dear, what will I say_?

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_A matter of some import has arisen and I believe I shall be unexpectedly in Anvard the day after the morrow, if thou still wishest to see me._

* * *

What could he possibly have that belonged to her? What could he wish to give her? What if he brought up the . . . other matter? What if he apologized? What if he didn't? What if she held up Shar's letter and demanded he explain? On what would she base her accusation? She had never revealed to him the fact of Esquire Shar's letter. Neither had Peter. Could she in good faith tell Tran that his squire had shared something Tran thought kept in confidence?

Perhaps she should ask Shar if revealing it would make his duties more difficult. Perhaps it was not necessary to bring it up at all. What if she strode up to Tran and said in her most refined accent, _A Queen's heart and a lady's is not a jest. In the future We shall thank thee to remember it_?

—

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_Very well._

—

But shortly before it was time to saddle her horse and set out for Anvard, carrying the trade documents King Lune and Queen Ilene wished to review with Narnia, the heavens opened up and the late-summer rains came pouring down, making it impossible to travel.

"Don't fret," said Peter, seeing the aghast look on her face and coming to stand by her at the window. "I can go down next week if Lune keeps insisting they're too sensitive for courier, and they're really not that urgent."

"It's not that," she said softly. "Tran was to meet me there."

"That—you're still—"

"Just letters. He writes to me sometimes."

Peter frowned. "We can stop his letters for you if he's bothering you."

"I know."

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_We were visited by a tremendous storm just as I set out, and for two days could neither send nor receive mail, let alone travel over the mountains. My apologies if thou madest the ride to Anvard for naught._

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_'Twas an exceedingly fair day at Welsmith, and I did not go to Anvard._

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_Wilt thou not write to me? Lacking any word from thee, I wonder if thou must not hate me. How goeth life for Susan, Queen of Narnia?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_Susan, Queen of Narnia, is as well and industrious as ever. Our fields needed the rain, but the storm blew down trees and flooded several fields, which damage has taken some labor to repair._

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_And what of the Chatelaine of Cair Paravel or the Duchess of Dancing Lawn?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_We are one and the same, and sooth, I bear names thou knowest not._

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_I will never understand thy mysterious ways, my lady. When dost thou come to Archenland again?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_Why dost thou ask?_

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_I miss thy conversation. May I visit thee in Narnia?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_When dost thou intend? For I have many duties demanding my time._

* * *

Susan went about her duties, hating the knot of anxious worry in her stomach and the endless circling questions in her mind. _Why—why—why—why—_ She could not find the words to say more than that.

In the evenings sometimes she visited Mrs. Bricker, breathing the pungent aroma of the old Dwarfess's pipe and listening to her years of wisdom about men and women and the ways they interact. "There are many men in the world, Susan," Mrs Bricker would say. "Some are honorable and some are scoundrels, but you are young and beautiful and powerful and need not choose yet."

But _why_ and _what_ and _who_ and _how_ could she know another's true intentions and did it even matter and was she thinking so much on it?

Mrs. Bricker would lay her gnarled hand on Susan's smooth one. "Though you are a lady and a Queen, you need not be a meek, retiring maiden. That is not the Narnian way. Why, when Mr. Bricker and I first met, he swiped a piece of good leather from my workbench, and I walloped him good."

Susan burst out laughing at the unexpected conclusion. "But I—Mrs. Bricker, I'm quiet, and I don't like arguing, even when Edmund does it in fun."

"That's as makes no matter. Put some iron in your backbone and stand up like the wild Narnian women of old!"

And so, just a few hours after sending the last note, Susan went again to her desk for paper and ink.

* * *

_Susan, Queen of Narnia, to Tran, Knight of Welsmith,_

_After much thought, I must ask thee not to visit me. I am yet young and unwise, and methought I could be but friendly toward thee, as we had agreed. I cannot, and for that I owe thee my apologies._

_I wish thee all the best of fortune in thy continuing apprenticeship, quest, and eventual inheritance of Welsmith._

_Signed,_   
_Queen Susan_

* * *

"Why did you _say_ that? Now he'll think you're in love with him!" spluttered Lucy the next morning when Susan mentioned it.

Susan groaned. "I saw that only after I had sent it off."

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_So 'tis farewell?_

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_I fear so._

* * *

_Sir Tran to Queen Susan,_

_I wish thee good fortune and prosperity as Queen, and trust thou shalt succeed in all thy work. Lion's blessings upon thee._

* * *

_Queen Susan to Sir Tran,_

_My thanks, and for the many pretty words thou hast accorded me. Lion's blessings to thee as well. Please, write to me no longer._

* * *

She sanded the note and rolled and tied it. She watched the pigeon winging into the night. Then she crossed the room to her bed, buried her face in her pillows, and sobbed until she fell asleep.

* * *

The week-long Summer Festival came and then it was harvest time. For the first time, Susan did not feel overwhelmed by the amount of reaping, threshing, pickling, preserving, drying, storing, and organizing it took to prepare Narnia for another winter. As the nights grew cooler, the cellars filled with food for Men and Beasts, and Lucy flew around the country with Chrysophylax, ensuring that no Narnian would go hungry in the coming months.

Yuleweek brought gifts and visits from Father Christmas. Snow blanketed the land, and Narnia settled in for Wintersleep; in snowy, moonlit glades the Fauns and Nymphs and Dwarfs danced, and Susan took thought whether she would go to Anvard again.

* * *

_Lune, King of Archenland, to Susan, Queen of Narnia,_

_The Queen, thy friend, hath taken ill and asketh for thee. Wilt not thou come?_

* * *

For two months, Susan sat by Ilene's bedside and nursed her, though the physicians' arts could not detect the Archen Queen's hurt. At last, in the spring, Ilene began to recover. When she seemed safely on the mend, Susan returned home, for her presence was desired there and the physicians had finally pronounced Ilene out of danger.

Barely a week later, Lune rode into Paravel, his son before him on the horse and two companions with them, all in black, and Ilene was gone. All four Narnian sovereigns went weeping to Anvard for her burial, and then King Lune left all affairs in the hands of his lords Dar and Darrin, while he himself escaped to Cair Paravel.

For hours at a time he walked on the beach, or stared at the fire that made his room almost too warm, or sat on his balcony—until Peter and Edmund took him to the fields and handed him a plow. Corin hardly let go of Susan's skirt for a fortnight; she tried to soothe the ache in her own heart by coaxing him to sleep. Sometimes she stayed with him through the night, her arms around his four-year-old body and her tears falling silently into his tousled golden curls.

In the midst of this, a Bird brought a letter from Tran of Welsmith, addressed to Susan of Narnia, and she—after looking long at the seal—threw it unread into the fire, though all the etiquette she'd ever learned screamed against it.

May Day, and Lune and Corin returned home; Midsummer, and another year gone.

* * *

_King Lune of Archenland to Queen Susan of Narnia -_

_Susan, my friend,_

_I think I did not know until I came again to Anvard that she is gone. The fields are misty-green with sprouting wheat, and the horses frisk in their stalls. She loveth summer best, thou wottest—loved—the freshness of the year, when springs run free, and always she came to me and begged me lay aside my work that we might ride across the hills together. We would go, just us two, galloping until she lost her hat and her hair whipped in the wind, and she laughed at everything—the wildflowers in the meadow, the birds in the trees, the children at play, at the horses tossing their manes and the dogs cavorting about us._

_Hector paceth in his stall and will not eat, understanding not whither his mistress is gone nor that there can be no returning from that last and needful journey. How can I tell him, when he speaketh not with the tongue of men?_

_Corin my son doth not weep. He goeth meekly to his lessons, meals, and bed, as Mrs Quimby directs him, and bringeth his playthings to my study to amuse himself. At times he is so still I think he is no longer himself, and then again he runs and shouts with Master Mervin's sons and the children of Lord Dar, shrieking as they always have done, and I question within myself whether he will remember his mother when he is grown to manhood._

_My daughter, forgive me for writing thus to thee, but thou did love her, I wot. Few in this place will speak her name aloud, fearing to remind me. But every stone and sconce reminds me. Ilene._ Ilene. _How I loved thee. Not a room is there in Anvard lacking her touch._

_Write to me, Susan, dearest of cousins, with thy memories of her we both mourn. Tell me all the tiny things, the deeds of no import and unworthy of a King's attention, the trivial things she said and did, that we may not forget._

_Lune_

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

In the Golden Age of Narnia, when Peter the High King ruled in Cair Paravel and Susan the Gentle, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Duchess of Dancing Lawn, Countess of the Southern Vale, Bow-arm of Narnia, and Keeper of the Horn was the most beautiful woman in the world, the suitors came from far and wide to gaze upon her beauty.

A few she permitted to bear her favors, many more she turned away with smoothly-worded firm refusal. For the oily, unpleasant churls who wished only to possess her and her throne for themselves, she had little patience, but she was especially kind to the earnest, fresh-faced youths who came, shivering in their boots, to stammer their infatuation. "For," she said, "even I was once inexperienced in the ways of love."

The years passed in their cycles of summer and winter, springtime and harvest, planting and trading and feasting and study, love and heartache, until one winter, when the snow lay thick on the roofs of Anvard, she found a knight truly worthy to bear her favor. She gave him her hand in marriage, and they were very happy together for many a day.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story in the spring and summer of 2013, SEVEN YEARS AGO, and posted it originally to fanfiction.net. I've always identified strongly with Susan Pevensie, and this was my way of processing my first heartbreak, the aftermath of a crush on a boy who turned out to be casually callous.
> 
> This is the most personal story I've ever written. I drew directly from my own life, and sobbed my eyes out as I chronicled the ups and downs of trading messages back and forth with someone I was too nervous to stand up to. My friends encouraged me to rewrite the ending, to give Susan the opportunity to stand up for herself in ways I hadn't. I didn't. It was immensely cathartic to tell myself, unflinchingly, the story of my experience, through the veil of Susan's POV. 
> 
> There's a lot of works on my old FFnet page that I cringe at, now, but not this one. This remains one of my favorites. 
> 
> * * * * * * * * * *
> 
> ORIGINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE (8/25/13):
> 
> With thanks to Rthstewart, Metonomia, WingedFlight, freudiancascade, and Starbrow for support, and also especially to the many people in real life who made it possible for me to write this story.
> 
> This is probably the first time I've so blatantly ignored beta input to tell a story exactly as I wished to, without regard for whether it made the better story. I'm posting it anyway and checking it off my list of languishing WIPs. Thanks for reading.


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